


In Faith & Love

by LadyPoly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Related, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Gen, Human Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Romantic Fluff, Sappy Dean Winchester, Self-Sacrificing Castiel, Supportive Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14044026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/pseuds/LadyPoly
Summary: For every beginning, there is an ending.Years after the Darkness, after Lucifer and the big bads were once again just a memory passing, that reminder echoed louder than ever.“Though I am the one who raised you from perdition, you are the one who caught me when I fell"Dean has to get it right this time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassondraWinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassondraWinchester/gifts).



> For the "Fix it" Hurt/Comfort challenge.
> 
> Love and thanks to my light and lover Freeagentgirl as always. Thank you Cassondra for helping me face my fears and post this.
> 
> If any errors, my apologies.

 

Prologue:

 

For every beginning, there is an ending. Everything has a time, an expiry.

 

Years after the Darkness, after Lucifer and the Big Bads were once again just a memory in passing, that reminder echoed louder than ever.

 

It should have been easy, perhaps simple. After all, all they had to do was kill the warlock and his nasty pets.

 

Maybe they were off their game. Maybe they're just getting old. After all, how hard were a few hybrid Black Dogs?  

Dean isn’t sure, but all it takes is one moment, one wrong move.

Dean definitely hates this thing more than hellhounds as he yells, its long, misshapen claws tearing across his back as Sam looks up at him with wide olive green pools of horror, blood splattering across his face.

He falls against him, everything disconnected. It burns, hurts to breathe. It feels familiar, the weight around his vision, his mind. The darkness. Just like the hellhounds, only this time, stupid Irish canines.

These new shadow sneaky sons of bitches were definitely not how Dean saw himself going. Not with Sam’s voice pleading in his ears and desperate for him to wake up.

 

Then just as soon as it happens, as the world goes out and he’s gasping, Sam cradling him in strong shaking arms, tears streaming down his face.

Castiel lies crumpled, redder than anything else and motionless at his feet. There’s a burn in the floor, some explosive mark like angel’s wings when they die, like smoke and the air smells like ozone, a spark from a live wire.

Sam is crying.

Dean is…

“No...NO! CAS!” Dean is positive he’s never moved so quickly in his life, never been as desperate as he is right now. He doesn’t even think about the Impala, just tears away at the fabric, ignoring the metal smell that crowds them in, pushing down the vomit bobbing in the back of his throat and churning in his stomach.

He tries not to remember the cloth, the way he tied the knots and carried Castiel once already out to burn. The way he had seethed, couldn’t forgive himself for letting Lucifer win. How he tried to drown out the smell of lake water and a soaked trench coat from the time before. The smell of Cas’ blood on his face when he exploded in the graveyard.

Dean works methodically, despite the fear, the memories weighing heavy like an anvil in his chest, past the point the adrenaline begins to leave his limbs feeling like cement. He focuses on the stitches, the weak rise and fall of breath from Cas’ chest, knowing that a pulse is a pulse, that it would continue pumping the blood he’s trying desperately to keep _inside_ Cas’ body around in order to keep him alive where his grace cannot.

 

Team Free Will had fallen farther than ever before, and together Dean and Sam weren’t sure what to do next.

***

In the Bunker, protected by the towering walls and the ancient knowledge--they took their time to address the weight of their situation, licked their wounds. They reflected on their losses and their gains, and no one did that more so than Dean.

The first few days were the hardest, a darkness looming over the room that sheltered Castiel’s broken body when he’d fallen unconscious.

Sam had researched Jimmy Novak until there was nothing left to know. Dean just sat and watched the blood, via transfusion, leave his body since it matched Cas’ own and prayed to no one in particular that it would be enough.

 

The silence was maddening however with just the sound of his own voice. He wished Castiel would just say two stupid little words to him. One more “Hello Dean.”

 

The possibility of once again being alone, just the two of them, made them more afraid than ever. In fact, it aged them. Finally shed light on just how much they had changed physically, pointed out their flaws.

 

It gave them a sobering perspective, both of them slumped in chairs in a darkened room, waiting, passing the bottle between them, swallowing the burn as they tried to numb the pain in their chests--hiding away from the world beyond their fortress. They let it consume them, heavy beards, eyes with circles as dark as the feeling that hung around them.

“What are we going to do if he never wakes up?” Sam’s voice is strangely old to him, unfamiliar. Dean cannot build another pyre, cannot strike the lighter that will once again burn another hole in his heart.

 

“He’s going to wake up, Sammy…he’s gonna.” Dean thumbs Cas’ cheek, the dark angry bruise glaring, even in the low light.

 

This had been their first job in quite some time. Especially since the world was a little more void of the Supernatural now, full once again of more and more humans since the gates of Hell were sealed.

 

No Archangels, no Demon Kings or deals, no Angels left looming about to assist, having mostly taken to the clouds.  No witches or half graced up human teenage allies, after all. Jack had gone off on his own some time ago, looking for what--they weren't sure. Maybe closure. Even the ghosts were few and far between, though, the world wasn't in need of them anymore like they had been before. Everyone they knew had all been lost to the world, to their job…some of them lucky enough to still walk away from what Dean and Sam hadn’t been able to.

 

Dean can’t escape the weight in his chest. His soul is screaming.

 

_Never again._

 

The brothers Winchester make a vow.  

 

It was time to move on like the others.

 

With or without Castiel.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s funny, in a way, how one moment suddenly rearranges all the others.

"Withstands until the sweet assault. Their chivalry consumes. While he, victorious, tilts away. To vanquish other blooms."

Castiel wakes up weeks later to the sound of Dean reading poetry to him, verses from Emily Dickinson’s The Bee, his favourite poem. Dean’s voice feels like it pulls him out of somewhere cold, brings him back to the sunlight.

 

It’s very clear he’s human, eyes opening to blinding pain and emptiness, a loss of self and most of all, _his tattered wings_. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the weight of that, however, before the brothers are fussing about, suffocating him _._

"How do you feel?" 

"Where does it hurt?" 

"Let me get that, just rest"

The former Angel of the Lord realizes just how quickly he loses the argument to say he is fine without the ability to smite someone hovering in the background. He gives in to their concerns and cloying affections.

 

It takes time of course, Cas feels like they let him _breathe_. He knows they’re always watching, but it feels good to leave the bed himself, to walk without assistance and, despite its incredible annoyance, piss without anyone hovering outside the door.

 

Together in the weeks and few months that pass-- they rise, find a little corner of sanctuary amongst one another. For the first time Castiel really feels a sense of family, platonic love. He now understands all the years of Dean insisting he had a home.

 

The raggedy brown trench coat hangs over the back of one of the chairs. It hadn’t moved since Sam cleaned it, repaired its holes and tears. Castiel couldn’t fathom wearing the poor old thing anymore. It was now a heavy reminder not just to him, but Sam and Dean, too, of all that had changed. That coat, in a way, had symbolized power, protection and for the brothers--most of all Dean--hope.

 

Now that he was human, though, Cas wondered once again if it had a place in the new uncertain future he was embarking on, if the brothers would _always_ want him here. Castiel hopes so. He finds that here, of all the places he had been to and seen, he didn’t have nightmares like the ones he had the first time he was human.

The first time he fell, he had been running--trying to stay alive. Struggled, starved. He’d been so afraid. Here, though, he had time to adjust rather than be thrown into choppy waters. Here, he was expected to swim instead of drowning. And if he couldn’t, he knew Dean and Sam would hold his head above the water until he could.

Drowning was what he did the first time, this time he was definitely going to swim. Breathe.

 

So now he studied, watched.

It was no longer 'Hello Dean' but, "Goodmorning Dean. Coffee?"

Mornings were lazy now, breakfast and gatherings around the table just because they could, not because of a case. Cas finds a renewed fondness for coffee from Dean’s favourite mug with perhaps too much sugar. Dean always complaining he took it, but never demanding it back as they sat together. There was an indulgence for hot showers that always made Sam shake his head and wonder if there was any left for him to use, but never any annoyance when there wasn't followed by his sheepish, "My apologies Sam".   

 

Castiel soon realized he liked being around Sam.  They talked about history, lore and now spent their time organizing things, rummaging through forgotten inventory. Sam seemed to be finding a catalogue that worked better. Sam seemed happy with his rummaging, as he greedily soaked up weathered pages of knowledge as if he had found lost treasure.

"Look at this one!" never failed to make Castiel smile when Sam would blow the dust away. He had never seen Sam nearly giddy, and he wondered just what truly had stolen such a thing from him previously.

The bigger surprise of all though was Dean. He had never been further from hunting in all the years Cas had known him. Quite simply Dean fell into stride and as he did so, the further behind them hunting was, the calmer he seemed.  It started in the kitchen one morning, minor repairs and fixing a leaky faucet. He soon moved to light fixtures, replacing parts on appliances and patching tile. Anywhere Castiel seemed to be, that's where Dean would work. He seemed content to fiddle and tinker. Dean had even managed to get the extra showers working a few days later, grouting tile and patching plaster. Even more surprising was Dean's lack of,

"Hey Cas, personal space remember?"

There was something calming about it--familiar and soothing, even if he didn’t know why.  Especially with Dean, and more so with the vehicles in the carport.

Castiel found he liked the openness of the space, but also enjoyed admiring the twitch in Dean’s muscles when he moved in the ebony cotton shirt, when he could see the way his hands clasped at things, and took them apart. Dean had stripped away Baby piece by piece, almost on autopilot.

 Castiel envied her, in a way, wishing for such attention from the man himself. He couldn’t help but wonder if his bond with Dean would ever lead to the same place as theirs did. Dean knew her so well, after all, each part and each piece, every detail new and old. He loved her dearly and it was clear in the way he handled her with such tenderness. At times it made Castiel jealous of their bond, despite the fact she wasn’t a person, made him wish he could be her.

 Once upon a time he could say he knew Dean the same way, when he raised him from Perdition.  He had wielded power over Dean once, every atom, every molecule and strand of DNA. Castiel had controlled, guided and stitched back together every part of him with precision and determination. He had seen every memory, felt every scar and the pieces of his soul that made the hunter who he was once more. It was a feeling he hadn’t words for, despite all the knowledge in his head, all the languages.

 When Baby was once again complete a few evenings later, as they sat in comfortable silence while the radio played lowly, Cas was sad their time was done. He knew Dean would move on to something else and once again he would be at a loss to find something to occupy his time. Stretching, ready to sulk in his room with a book, he was shocked to see his own truck rumble into place and stop where Baby had been.

 Castiel sat perched as the hunter tackled it, a nervous feeling coiling in his stomach. He had almost forgotten about her, wondered when it had been retrieved in the mess of him dying in one way, only to be reborn in another.

 “Come on, Cas. It’s time to teach you how to take care of her properly.”

 Cas was hesitant as Dean held out his hand, smiling with emerald eyes that sparkled like they were the rarest jewels in the world.   

He hadn’t a voice to answer, admiring the smudge of oil now on the side of Dean’s face below his left eye and the beads of sweat on his brow that suddenly made his freckles stand out. Dean made him warm inside. It was frustrating to him and this moment was no different.

As it turned out being human didn’t feel quite so bad when his hand fit perfectly inside Dean’s as he showed Cas where to place his hands.

Dean’s breath was on his neck, and the Hunter smelled better than honey or even grape jelly ever could. He was solid and warm against Cas’ hip as they worked together and it made him even more determined to learn, to make Dean proud, as time fell away from him.


	3. Chapter 3

Careful not to rip any stitches, the heavy bunker door groans, and sits ajar as the December morning chill greets Castiel. He’s sore, some of his skin mottled in the ever present hues of green and sickly yellow since that fateful hunt, some of his wounds continue to pull with a small sting when he forgets--a painful reminder that he is mortal. Despite it, though, beyond the space of the bunker, everything is still, almost suspended in time, like none of that matters.

 

Cas tugs the sweater around him a little tighter. Sighing, he finds comfort in the smell of the brothers embedded into the threads they’ve given him, in the smell of Spring Breeze laundry soap. Castiel has definitely become fond of loose fitted clothing and layers of cotton as he breathes in deeply to clear the rising affections in his body as he replays his moments with Dean over again in his mind, just like he has every morning since it happened.

 

He enjoys the way their hands slot together, the hunter’s rough hands shadowing his own, the feel of them flexing around his. Guiding, supporting, giving him strength. Castiel smiles at the morning sunrise.

 

The area here is quiet, always reminding him of the night he waited beside the road for Dean to call him, so many years ago, when he was more than naive and out of his element. It smells like dark crumbling earth and fallen leaves, the morning frost creating a scent that Cas loves as the sky burns like fire. 

 

It burns with marigold, tangerine and taffy that stills his breath, the night creeping away, and the flint colored clouds slowly dissipating. It may turn out be a decent day despite the cold settling in, the North wind reminding him of peppermint as his cheeks begin to chill. Sitting with his back against the stone, Cas’ mind ends up settling on thoughts of Dean as he escapes within himself, indulging in the feelings that are more intense now without his grace to dampen or interfere with them. 

 

Out here, he isn’t sure of how much time passes as he waits. Since falling, time is strange to him, especially when he doesn’t have the turn of the Earth to remind him of it slipping past--or the ability to simply go back and stare at a moment he missed, to twist or manipulate it. Castiel finds time moves too slowly when alone now, and yet far too quickly when he is with the man he loves, or when he’s enjoying Sam’s company.

 

Castiel shivers, toes curling to keep the chill at bay as sun rises higher in the sky of blue/grey and Arctic hues. He turns to head inside, one last look over his shoulder and down the road towards a place that doesn’t seem to stand as calm as it does here. He has yet to hear the roar Baby’s engine and frowns to himself. 

 

Why they went for supplies at sunrise baffles the former angel, especially when he wants to help. He closes the door with a grunt, rubbing at his shoulder and reading the text on his phone once more.

 

_ Went for supplies. Coffee’s made. If you need anything, shoot me one. Home soon, Sunshine. ~D _

 

Castiel still doesn’t understand why Dean bestowed the name on him, or why he continues to use it, but he can’t help the butterflies every time he reads it.

 

******

 

Dean needed this. It takes him a few miles to realize it, but the knot in his stomach starts to uncoil as the familiar stretch of horizon begins to breathe fire and stir.

 

Beside him, Sam is dozing lightly, curling into the locked door and looking years younger than he has in a long time. Dean's shamrock gaze burns back at him from the reflection in the mirror when he takes the moment to evaluate himself. He frowns, looking back at the road ahead as light begins to guide him towards his destination. 

 

Dean isn’t stupid. He can see the passage of time etched in the lines of his face, hardened there now, the crow’s feet present even when he isn’t laughing. He can see the unfamiliar spark of hope for something he had given up on a lifetime ago, the part of him that is his no longer but is _definitely_ Castiel’s. 

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says softly, glaring at himself for another brief moment before once again taking in the lines of the road as Baby purrs deeply, revving when he weighs down on the pedal. He huffs, frustrated as he runs his hand through his hair. 

 

The truth was, ever since they decided to sardine themselves up inside the bunker, Dean has had too much time to think, to observe. He needs a little distance, just a short distance to clear his head. It’s been loud--too loud, if he’s being honest--ever since Castiel lost his grace. Before Cas went off like a nuclear bomb to heal Sam and bring him back from reaper central and kill the things that hunted them, all at once. Cas burned himself out like a firework as the hounds shredded him, and the whole thing is dredging up feelings Dean didn’t think he would have to face again.

 

The worst part, though, was waiting for the bruises to fade as the deep ugly colors still taint Cas’ skin. Every time he caught a look at them, his stomach rolled. 

 

Why did something so ugly have to tarnish the beauty in Cas’ features? Why did Dean always have to feel like the universe was gonna steal him away, no matter what life they lead? 

 

Dean punches the steering wheel and grits his teeth in anger. He had stitched, bandaged and cared for Castiel. He had carried him over his back, the blood seeping into his shirt, not sure where Sam’s, his own or Castiel’s had ended. 

 

Sam drove. With a flashlight between his teeth, Dean worked tirelessly, ignoring the bumps of the pavement, the quiver in Sam’s voice and the feeling that screamed at him inside his chest, of the prayer he was repeating, pleading with the universe inside his head. 

 

Not that long ago he thought he’d lost Cas again to Lucifer. He honestly thought he’d bath in Cas’ blood and it still wouldn’t be enough as he had hoped Sam didn’t see the hot, angry tears that kept blurring his eyes when he did the best he could with no angel mojo. Just the want, the  _ need _ , in his own soul for Cas to keep fighting, his desperation.

 

That had been the longest drive of Dean’s entire life, longer than when Bobby and he had brought Sam’s lifeless body back the first time and he cried, screamed and cursed for him to come back as he lay rotting before his deal with the crossroads demon. More tormentful than when Sam had jumped into the pit and Dean arrived at Lisa’s doorstep, more shattering than when they left ashes on the beach, not sure where Cas’ started and Kelly’s ended. Just dust blowing wherever the hell the wind would take them.

 

It was the moment Dean figured he would have given anything just to have a minute to maybe finally tell Castiel how he felt. Adrenaline was a funny thing, though. A real bitch, as far as Dean was concerned. 

 

While he sat soaked in crimson, desperate for anything to change, as Castiel left traces of himself in Baby Dean was sure would never be able to be scrubbed away, the broken man finally spoke a few miles short of the bunker. 

 

It was a harsh breath, a grip on the front of Dean’s shirt and a sound that made Sam hit the brake as they halted onto a shoulder, both of them relieved and nearly sick with worry. 

 

It didn’t last long, of course, the pain forcing Castiel back under--but it had been something, it had been hope. Cas had been okay.

 

Of course he was--Dean knows that now, sees that-- but he’s so mad at himself,  _ disappointed.  _

 

He had been so ready to confess, so ready to tell him and then the minute he had his chance, after hours of reading poetry, when he washed and bathed him on the stool in the shower, rinsed away what sponge baths couldn’t, the weeks that Dean would never forget for them both…he just _ couldn’t say it. _

 

So instead, he hovered, tinkered, soaked him up as he invaded Cas’ space, as Cas invaded his. Despite it all, in the end, all he had managed was a pathetic, ‘Let’s work on the truck together.’ 

 

How many times was Cas going to tempt fate before Dean spit it out?

 

Dean groans, remembering all that time leaning over one another, hip to hip and breathing the same air, the smell of oil and sweat. Close enough to kiss sometimes, the scent of shampoo in Cas’ hair, the subtle feeling of skin on skin and the way the other man’s body moved.

 

And here he was, sulking. 

 

_ Running.  _

 

“Coward,” he mumbles to a sky now full of Arctic blues, the burning golds of sunlight, the grey fleeing as the new day takes over. He swallows roughly. 

 

Soon the sky would look just like Castiel’s cerulean eyes and inside, despite only being just a little over an hour away, Dean already misses them together, misses  _ him. _

 

If that wasn’t love, then Dean definitely didn’t have any idea what he was doing when he rolled into the Walmart Supercentre and woke Sam. 


	4. Chapter 4

December means Christmas. 

 

Christmas means crazy and Dean honestly wonders if maybe this was a terrible idea.

 

“It looks like Christmas threw up in here after one too many Jager bombs,” Dean mutters, hunched over the cart as he watches Sam walk out of the McDonald's with a muffin held between his teeth. 

 

Sam hands him his cup of coffee and shakes his head as he swallows a bite of blueberry muffin dusted in crystals of sugar. The younger male moans happily.

 

“Come on, Dean, it's festive,” Sam replies softly, eyes focused more on the displays as he finally settles the rumbling in his stomach. They had skipped breakfast in favor of getting there and back before Castiel woke, though he suspects the former Angel is prowling around, anyways. 

 

Dean watches his brother’s big, soft mossy eyes fixate on the trees covered in sparkling red and gold decorative bulbs. Dean shrugs. 

 

It isn't that he doesn't like Christmas, in fact at times he's even loved it. There was just something about it all this year as it approaches that tugs at the knot that settles inside the Hunter's chest. It always seemed despite Sam's age, Christmas excited him at five or at thirty-five, probably even when they reached forty-five, knowing him.

 

“Besides, a lot of this Cas needs and with another mouth to feed, we should really have more on hand than some bread, instant food and a bunch of stuff only you want to eat.” Sam gives him a look that Dean knows he cannot argue with, and grumbles at the mention of Cas. He sips at the double sugared coffee, clutching the cup like he can absorb its warmth. Dean watches as Sammy drinks his very froofy looking coffee, the whip coating his upper lip as he smiles. 

 

Dean rolls his eyes and drags him towards the jackets on the far wall. The temperatures are colder than Dean remembers them being in recent years, and pretty soon a trench coat just won't cut it. 

 

The last thing he wants is also feeling guilty for Cas getting sick, too.

 

“Sometimes I think you're my sister. Coffee isn't supposed to taste like candy canes and leave behind foam, Sammy. Seriously. You look like a happy poodle or something, ever since we walked in here.” 

 

“It’s whip cream Dean, jeez. This is no different than you drooling over apple pie and bacon on your cheeseburgers. Besides, aren’t you just a little excited Castiel woke up in time for Christmas?”  Dean narrows his eyes, there is definitely a  _ big _ difference, but he is excited--he really, really is. 

 

“Bitch,” he mutters after another sip of his own, the smell of roasted beans bringing him a little more to life as they walk along the glistening tile floor.  A few people who work there watch them, their blue vests always making Dean remember Castiel at the gas station. 

 

His stomach does its usual sickly flip flop. He finds himself staring as one of them seems to check him out. Dean’s quick to shrug it away as he leans over the cart, appearing smaller than he usually is. He frowns. 

 

When Cas had been ‘Steve’, he’d been human then, too, wearing a vest just like it. It had definitely been awkward, painful even.  Dean never should have kicked him out of the bunker, but he had been so naive and so stupid about Sam and Gadreel. In the end it still had nearly cost him everything, anyways. 

 

He had to do it right this time around. 

 

“Jerk,” Sam says, jarring him from his thoughts. Dean didn’t even realize they’d gotten to where they were headed as Sam reaches up to grab a deep forest green coat with a faux fur trimmed hood. Sam considers the jacket for a moment, then looks at his brother. His lips curl upwards in the corners as Dean narrows his eyes at him. 

 

Because that’s not suspicious  _ at all _ . 

 

“What?” he barks and Sam smiles as he places it in the cart. Sam pushes past him towards the shelves of folded plaid and t-shirts. 

 

“Nothing. Was just wondering if Cas would like it. Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”  Dean wrinkles his nose at Sammy’s awfully chirpy sounding voice and steers them towards the jeans on the opposite wall. Perhaps he doesn’t want to know--after all, their lives were bizarre enough as it was, confusing.

 

There wasn’t a set of guidelines for a life like this, nothing he could anticipate like he did with monsters and demons running amok. Not hunting was nice, Dean had to admit, but what came after that was scarier than anything they ever hunted. It changed the rules on them. It made Dean feel like he was being hunted rather than being the one doing the hunting. 

 

Dean runs his fingers through his hair, scanning the wall for denim he thinks will look good and that Cas would like. He settles on a few faded washes, lighter than his own. They’re softer, almost a worn out feel to them. Somehow, as he holds them in his hands, they feel like they suit the dark haired man. He tosses them into the cart and moves along. 

 

A part of Dean really wishes he wasn’t deciding between dark and light wash jeans, not for Cas, even if he did tease him about always looking like a tax accountant. It just makes the pain inside his chest feel like it eats him alive.

 

Cas didn’t deserve to be human. Castiel was supposed to be his Angel, the seraph who saved him from hellfire and brimstone, turned whole armies away, just for him. The best friend Dean never thought he would get to have--the weakness he didn’t know he would be so grateful to gain, despite how much it sometimes mucked up their lives.

 

They meet up at socks and undergarments where Dean scowls at the Wal-mart speakers in disgust.

 

“Some Christmas music should get people arrested for having poor taste and wrecking the classics with their caterwauling bullshit.” Sam laughs softly as he tosses a bag of black socks at Dean’s face. He nearly drops his coffee and glares.

 

“Lighten up, will you? What’s your deal? You’re being all extreme Mr. Grinch right now, which is saying something, even for you.”  He’s teasing, of course, amused really. Sam knows how Dean can be really early in the morning and it seems this morning is no exception. 

 

The taller male looks up only to stop suddenly. The look on Dean’s face makes Sam frown as he watches him toss the socks in the cart. “Dean?” 

 

The older hunter scrubs a hand over his face in frustration and huffs, “I’m just…it all feels wrong, Sammy...” His eyes fall to the items in the cart as he licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry as the rest of the words just seems to get stuck. “It’s Cas, man…we shouldn’t need all of this crap.”

 

Realization floods olive green eyes as Sam’s shoulders lower. His heart aches, a familiar hurt taking over--one he’s had a thousand times since Castiel entered their lives and always for the same reason. 

 

He is more than aware that Dean loves Cas, and who could blame him after all this time?  He knows Dean almost better than he knows himself and it's been obvious for a long time that his brother’s and the angel’s feelings had blurred away from platonic a long time ago. It's no surprise that this is eating away at his brother like rabid hellhounds, that he’s probably blaming himself for something he didn’t do. Swallowing roughly, he places one big warm hand over Dean’s where it sits against the handle of the cart, forcing the older hunter to look up at him.

 

“I know it hasn’t been easy, but Cas is okay, Dean, and that’s what matters right now. He isn’t full of Leviathans, lost to the wind in Purgatory or off somewhere with Lucifer riding shotgun. He’s at the bunker, at _ home _ \--and knowing him, waiting for you while he drinks coffee with  _ way _ too much sugar and reads another novel from one the shelves that hasn’t seen daylight in like a hundred years.” Sam squeezes his hand. It’s subtle, brief, but the gesture makes his throat tighten. Dean closes his eyes when they start to sting.

 

Sam’s right, he understands that--but it doesn’t stop the twist in his gut at remembering, the way it makes him worry just a little bit more despite the comfort it also offers. He just wants Castiel to be safe, to be okay.  

 

“Cas is going to need honey, and that purple jelly crap-- _ here, _ ” he pulls back, leaving the cart for Sam, and runs a hand through his hair. His Brother gives him one of his dopey, sad smiles and looks at the cart. 

 

“I’ll go get him boots, then some produce, the bulk of everything...so I guess I’ll meet up with you when I see you?” Dean nods, staring off at the aisles for grocery on the other end of the store. Away from Sam, out of sight from the gaze he knows is silently telling him to stop blaming himself, to ease up. 

 

Dean’s relieved when Sam walks away without another look, though, but even more amazingly, without another word uttered and takes his foamy, foofy mint coffee with him. The elder hunter rolls his neck, letting it crack as he releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 

He feels stupid standing there alone after a moment, and finally, as the feeling inside of him lets up with the last of his coffee, Dean makes his way through the aisles towards his goal. He goes the opposite way as Sam, however, away from grocery and closer to tills and a few people. 

 

He’s stalling and he can't help it. Dean is pissy. Pissy the things he’s grabbing aren’t for him, buying foods that are foreign to his usual grocery selections and the bunker kitchen since the last time this happened. Dean crushes the empty cup in his hand. He needs, no,  _ wants _ to punch a wall, the rage rising up inside of him without Sam there as a distraction. His fists are balled tight as he ignores the few shoppers and their Christmas lists, obvious cheer despite the hour he’s arrived here as they look at him. 

 

He hates this holiday. Hates that he left the bunker, hates that he didn’t protect Castiel, stop him and now he has to shop for Cas and his mortality. That he has to watch Cas age like he does, watch him possibly move on and leave Dean behind when he gets bored of it, when he doesn’t want to just be in his space, when there's nothing left to fix, nothing left to show him anymore. When Dean’s all used up and Castiel realizes Dean’s just broken, unloveable. 

 

When he gets sick of Dean never spitting it out, when he’s tired of dancing a dance they’ve done for what feels like a lifetime. The music had to end sometime.

 

Dean’s throat is tight, the blood pounding in his ears, roaring inside his veins. He’s about ready to quit, walk back towards Sam and leave the place without grape jelly and all, when he sees it.

 

In the jewelry display case he catches out of the corner of his eye, a small golden cross. It glints in the harsh fluorescent light and silences the world around Dean, suddenly drowns out his anger, suffocates it. He feels disconnected, like something else moves him forward as his fingers gently stroke the case in front of him with uncertainty. 

 

_ “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” _ __  
  


Dean feels the memory warm him at the same time it spreads goose bumps along his frame, despite the layers of cotton blends and the weight of his coat across his shoulders.

 

_ “This is your problem, Dean…you have no faith.”  _

 

Dean closes his eyes, a lump in his throat, a hot stinging beneath his dark lashes. 

 

_ “Good things do happen, Dean.” _

 

He swallows the scoff he almost makes, a sad smile curling the corner of his mouth.

 

_ “What's the matter?” ... “You don't think you deserve to be saved.” _

 

His chest tightens, ribs aching with the weight of the guilt that fills him head to toe, nearly stops his heart.

 

He didn’t, not at what it cost Castiel,  _ again.  _

 

Opening his eyes, Dean looks where his fingerprints have smudged the case, his hand trembling slightly.  

 

Cas was wrong. He may not have had faith in God, but he had faith in Sammy, in Bobby. In his family when it mattered. He had faith in him, in  _ Cas _ , even if he was really shitty at showing it. 

 

That moment changed him, gave him a spark that even if he didn’t want to admit it--had made him wonder if he was really worth something, even if he believed he wasn’t. And time and time again, Castiel had reminded him when he needed it, showed Dean that he was always worth it, even if he was angry, disappointed or upset. 

 

No matter what, Cas made Dean remember he was worth something, worth saving, even if Sam could not. And that gave Dean faith--maybe not in God or some greater good, because Chuck was…well, Chuck, but Cas…he was just Cas, an Angel of the Lord,  _ his Angel _ . 

 

In Dean’s mind, Cas was already better than God or anyone of those winged dick bags ever would be. In his heart, no one or anything Angel, Godly or otherwise could take Castiel’s place. He knew that now.  Hell, maybe he always had, even if he couldn’t pinpoint the moment he knew that he did, it slowly seeped into his core, his being…but to Dean, Cas was always something, someone more even when he didn’t always want him to be.

 

Now…now Cas was everything. His friend, family, faith, and heart. Maybe even his damn soul, or what might be left of it at this point. Dean continues to stare until a voice behind him causes the hunter to jump.

 

“Is there someone special you’re shopping for?” 

 

Dean stares at the older woman, her eyes sparkling, face full of laugh lines, silver hair tucked into a neat bun. The blue of her vest makes her look friendly. Dean swallows, once again admiring the jewelry.

 

“There is, and I’d definitely like that one.” 

 

He picks a blue velvet box, something that reminds him of Cas as she helps him. He pays for it with nervous butterflies in his stomach, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he smiles back at her when she wishes him a Happy Holiday. 

 

Dean hopes Cas loves it, and rushes off to meet Sam, who peers at him suspiciously when Dean approaches the cart. “You’re suddenly…different.” 

 

Dean eyes Sam, realizing he feels lighter than he has in years and winks. This is going to be it, this is how he’s going to finally tell Castiel everything. He smiles, walking past Sam as he moves towards the condiments without any explanation. 

 

He buys Cas two jars of grape jelly, and the bottle of honey with the bear, even if it costs more, because he knows Cas loves it. Even the coffee he really loves. 

 

Dean nabs a heated blanket to keep the chill of winter away, and a new pillow made of memory foam--anything had to be better than that ancient stuff he insisted was fine. It probably smelled, for all Dean knew. 

 

Dean tells Sam to shut it when they pack the trunk. He's smiling at him again, and Dean…Dean wants to do this one alone. 

 

If Sam suspects anything when they drive home, Dean ignores it. He needs to plan out the first Christmas he’s determined to make both him and Castiel remember for a lifetime.

 

Outside, small fluffy flakes of snow begin their wayward descent to the ground. The cold will only continue and he realizes he isn't angry like before--not perfect, but better. 

 

If he cannot fix Castiel, he can at least help him.

 

Dean isn’t surprised to see Castiel waiting with a smile and a fresh pot of coffee when he pulls into the car port.

 

A simple “Hello Dean.” has never felt so hopeful. Dean’s smile might just break his face.

 

“Heya, Sunshine.Brought ya some gifts.”


	5. Chapter 5

December passes quickly. It creeps up on Dean in falling snowflakes and mornings spent watching Cas crunch snow beneath his new boots as he rambles on about their unique shapes, about how no two are ever the same when their structures form. 

 

It passes in the clearing of dust, boxes of silverware and plates, things they never realized they had and the smell of cookies, gingersnaps dusted in sugar. The bunker smells like his early childhood, and Dean realizes hasn’t baked since Mary died. That no one around him ever did this. 

 

Suddenly the idea of pie and never having to eat diner food, or sleep on a motel mattress again is relieving rather than startling. 

 

His mother wasn’t as great at it as it turns out, he now knows, but sometimes she had done it and he had helped. It comes back like muscle memory, a strange nostalgia. 

 

He wonders about her as he moves, rolling out the dough and shaping what he needs, trimming it around the edges with care, crimping it together tenderly. 

 

Dean makes pies till his back aches, bakes cookies till the heat of the kitchen puts sweat on his brow and flour dusts every surface of the old style kitchen. He tests them on Sam, watches his eyes light up like they had when he was young and treats were few and far between, offers them to Cas, who closes his eyes every time and smiles. 

 

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs softly, every time, and Dean doesn’t care how ridiculous it is. There's pride in knowing he baked the first treats Castiel is tasting, and it brings him into a Christmas spirit--makes him grateful to have finally walked away from hunting.

 

Sam and Castiel decorate in the days that come while Dean cooks, the bunker full now of fake evergreen and holly. Gold, silver, and red bulbs help accent the trimmings, and for the first time in as long as Dean can remember--they decorate a tree.

 

It’s a huge evergreen, its scent inviting, comforting. Castiel had found it as their boots crushed the fallen snow, wandering around with flashlights before they very much illegally cut down and brought back in Cas’ truck. 

 

Dean played the radio without any sadness for the Christmas tunes that filled the cab for the first time he could ever remember, no regret for how cold his fingers were numb when he gave Cas his gloves, and no annoyance for Sam’s joyful singing in the back like an over exuberant puppy.

 

There’s just love in that truck and even more of it ,somehow, when Cas joined Sam with equal passion in Enochian. Words he knew conveyed what the religious words in English did and somehow it was more moving this way, almost magical. 

 

For the first time, despite missing loved ones, there's no ache in Dean’s chest. No guilt over Sam never having what he deserved and everyday he accepts more and more that Cas is human. 

 

Because of it, so does Cas. 

 

They spend more and more time together, it seems, when they both accept it. Dean teaches Castiel the basics of cooking, Cas fills Dean with knowledge over traditions humans get wrong in their books, fills his head with stories of Cas that he always wondered about. Some make Dean laugh and for the first time, Castiel laughs, too. It makes Dean laugh even more, tears in his eyes and a loss of breath, but it might be better than anything he’s ever heard. Sam takes their picture when he rounds the corner and smiles. 

 

Sam frames it and Dean places it on the bookshelf without a word. 

 

As they grow closer, somehow he loves Cas more everyday. Every passing moment makes the cross he stares at when he wakes up and goes to sleep even more important, and the gold object makes him braver than the day before. 

 

Before he knows it, it’s Christmas Eve. There's a pile of potato skins on the counter, an overflowing pot of garlic mash, a turkey in the oven, and enough homemade apple cider with whiskey that Dean is sure they’ll never go without again. He smiles, stirring the gravy before checking the oven, full of every trimming he could manage to remember that came with Christmas dinner and turkey.

 

He might not have to cook until New Years, even with Sam around, and he wishes Bobby and Ellen could see him now. 

 

There's more bodies in the bunker than they have ever had; Jody, Claire, Alex, Kaia, all arriving despite the weather. Jody looks ageless, and Dean and Sam feel it’s unfair. She comments that they'll always be handsome, even if Dean's going silver fox and Cas decides, as they meet for the first time--he already loves her, too. 

 

The girls have matured, of course, and somehow Dean finds that looking at Claire, all grown up, a true for sure adult woman, makes him feel older most of all. Cas puts a hand on his shoulder in silent understanding. 

 

So many years have passed. 

 

He hears Jody talking to Sam about the snow coming down harder than before, thankful they can stay and Dean surveys the bunker kitchen with a grateful eye. Sure, the snow wasn’t always good--it’s wet, cold and the chill in the air makes Cas grumpy, Dean’s noticed--but a white Christmas somehow makes Dean feel positive, and dare he say, happier than he can ever remember being. 

 

He’s surprised hell isn’t freezing over with that knowledge, especially with family present.

 

Castiel approaches as Dean pulls the turkey from the oven, serving dishes piled with food that filled the air with a mouthwatering smell from the steam radiating off them that he’s spent a lifetime missing since he became a hunter. 

 

Castiel holds a basket for the rolls they baked in his hands, cheeks already rosy from the wine Jody brought. Dean can’t help but find himself once again staring. 

 

Cas has lines on his face now like his own does, some silver in his beard when he’s got a few days growth. He’s handsome, and Dean aches to throw his whole plan out the window and kiss him right there and then. Their eyes meet and Dean laughs softly, “Your cheeks are so red, Cas,” He nods. Dean didn't realize that while Cas had made himself scarce, he had started drinking.

 

“I blame Claire. The wine is very, very good and I didn’t want to be rude. She says it was Jimmy’s favorite,” Dean’s eyes widen at that but Castiel just smiles and tugs at his sweater, “She gave me this and a scarf. They’re very soft.”  

 

Dean steps forward, pulling off a loose fluff and smiling at the deep maroon fabric that brings Cas’ eyes out as if they swallowed all the blue from the summer sky.

 

“You look devastatingly handsome,” he says, with no hesitation and winks for effect. Cas is even redder than the cherries in the pie. Dean’s heart skips inside his chest just as Jody enters, offering a hand. 

 

They carry everything together and Dean stops in his tracks. He cannot believe what he’s seeing as he enters the library with its long tables. 

 

The setting takes Dean’s breath away when Cas asks if he likes it, and the hunter finds himself laughing softly. The treasures they found sparkle in candle light, goblets and plates that match, even napkin holders and legitimate matching silverware. It looks like something out of a magazine where everything is staged, properly done in a home Dean will never own. 

 

Sam looks at Dean with soft misty looking eyes, “I thought it was awesome," and Dean had to agree as he sets the turkey down. Both brothers crush the former angel between them, and Cas doesn't even care if he’s robbed of the air in his chest.

 

The room is lit in soft golds that glimmer off shining glasses as Claire plugs the tree in. It suddenly adds atmosphere and Dean could kiss Castiel right here and now if he weren't so eager to dig in. The truth is, though, Dean’s never felt anything so homey in his entire life. And right now he owes that to Cas. 

 

“It’s beautiful, Cas. Thank you,” he smiles, clearing his throat at their sentiment and Cas blushes. 

 

“Merry Christmas, Dean. I didn’t know what else to get you, so I thought I would help with the only part of dinner I knew I could. The setting and grace, if that’s allowed.” Dean hugs him a second time, words failing him as Sam ruffles Cas’ hair with a small warm laugh. 

 

As they take their seats, the bunker almost feels wondrous this way. Dean realizes they never should have waited this long to enjoy the other side of what they had all along. To just enjoy one another.

 

Dean sits at the head of the table, Jody at the other, and for the first time when Cas’ voice says grace, Dean actually means the “Amen” when it slips past his lips freely and he swallows back tears. 

 

He didn’t miss the way Cas snuck in Mary and Jack, referenced the ones they lost. 

 

*****

 

Being buzzed is a mildly pleasant feeling, Castiel realizes, and he’s grateful for such an experience as the one he’s getting now. He is surrounded by people who love him--people he hopes he can get to love as well, like the brothers do, in the future and he isn’t sure he has ever been this full. 

 

With another sip of wine, Claire, who he finally notices is no longer a child or adolescent, talks excitedly. She’s animated and Jody just rolls her eyes as Alex snips back at her sister and Sam chuckles at their banter. She reminds Cas of Jimmy, strong hearted and all the other good things about family that he ‘remembered’, via Jimmy, when he took on his vessel.

 

She is the best of Jimmy Novak, her mother, Amelia, and of Dean, Sam and Jody. Beautiful blonde curls frame her face as she laughs openly, and Cas wonders what her once pining, searching soul must look like now.

 

He twists the cloth napkin in his hand. It’s here amongst the warmth, the gold of the tree and the floating feeling of the wine that Castiel realizes the passage of time in a way his grace never allowed him to. He makes note of the features in Sam’s face, in his hair and even the beard beginning to cover it. Despite the loss of his grace, he swears he can still feel the soul he once saw in the younger man's laugh, open and free.

 

Smiling, Cas turns to eye Dean, who’s listening to Claire, wine glass nearly empty, silverware crossed across a clear plate as everyone else finishes. His eyes catch Cas’ attention first, deep shades of shamrock and pine, lighting a fire inside of him that he never noticed with his powers dulling the sensation. He likes the beard on Dean’s skin, too. It matures them both, looks relaxed. Dean turns, smiling at Cas in a way he isn’t sure he ever has and Cas feels heat crawl across his neck once more. 

 

Dean has always been beautiful. A bright, shining,  _ blinding _ soul despite what the hunter thought, and yet now that he was human, Cas appreciated it more than he ever had. Each morning Cas could appreciate the way the lips he dreamed of kissing would move when Dean spoke, or drink his coffee. He could memorize the way Dean moved when he worked on his tasks, the way his eyes lit up as he cooked. The way Dean always smelled like all of Cas’ favorite things, how he could etch into his now human soul the way Dean’s voice sounded without his soul's longing to drown it out, the way it made Castiel feel more alive than he ever had. 

 

As the candles burn down, as he tries to focus again on the story, Dean’s hand comes to rest on his knee beneath the table and Castiel smiles till his face hurts, his fingers on top of Dean’s like it’s the greatest thing in the world. 

 

Maybe to Castiel, though, it really was, as his heart beat just a little faster inside his chest. It’s a perfect moment, at least until the sound of the bunker door opening brings everyone to a halt, an unsure tension floating into the room before everyone relaxes. 

 

Mary enters, her hair a mixture of blonde and some grey, the snow dusting her hair and shoulders as she smiles warmly from where she stands, tears in her eyes. Time has aged her, but to Cas, she’s still just as striking as the day they met. He sees so much of Dean and Sam in her as she smiles back at everyone, her clothing much the same as the last time they parted. Very much an indication of her dedication to her job.

 

She isn’t ashamed to cry when her boys embrace her, Dean harassing her about when she ate last, Sam making room for her at the table. She isn’t even settled yet, Jody pouring her wine generously, before the banging at the door causes them all to pause again. 

 

Cas mourns losing the weight of Dean’s hand on his knee, realizing the moment is fleeting. It threatens to settle inside his chest, but it fades just as quickly when a man stands before him with a face much like his own and locks of honey coloured hair. He’s tall, broad shouldered. A tawny winter parka is unzipped above a blue sweater much like his own and there no mistaking him, even covered in a dusting of fresh snow.

 

Castiel isn’t sure he’s breathing when the man's arms wrap around him, his voice so different from when he last heard it, brings tears rolling down his cheeks without his permission. 

 

“Merry Christmas, Dad.” 

 

Castiel holds onto him so tightly, they may as well be the same person.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel wonders if a person can die from eating too much pie. 

 

It’s well past midnight as he somehow manages to finally get the button on his jeans undone, the kitchen once again sparkling and the bunker almost back to normal. He rolls himself over, groaning into his pillow, his sweater bunching up uncomfortably with the movement, but Cas can’t bring himself to care.

 

He is both physically, and emotionally, drained. Closing his eyes, Cas lets the scents still wafting in the air, the low murmur of several woman drunk on wine and giggling, comfort him. He wonders if the holiday is like this for all humans. He can hear Sam’s voice excuse himself as he and Jack walk past the former angel’s slightly ajar door. 

 

Jack stops, and grace or not--Castiel can feel those eyes on him, how they read him like an open book.

 

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Jack asks, finally sounding more like the boy he remembered that went off to learn about the world he was half part of, the one who used to write him letters--the same ones he kept in a drawer and had read a hundred times or more over the years. 

 

They had been reduced to a few texts after that, a few prayers here or there. Dean had mentioned they spoke on the phone while he recovered, that he was searching now for something to help Castiel, all of them, but Jack hadn’t checked in since then. Just a text to Sam, telling them he was close. Close to what though, no one had known. Grace or not, Castiel worried. Whatever it had been, he must have found it in order to be here. 

 

Cas sighs. He always worries about Jack, about Claire and Dean, Sam. His family. Castiel rolls over, pulling his sweater down past the undone button as he does so in the dark before sitting up to illuminate the lamp. They stare at one another in the low yellow light before Castiel closes his eyes, and prays:

 

_ I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not sure I want to have this conversation--I’m tired. I’ve accepted myself this way, and no, before you ask--I do not want you to restore me…What I have gained with Dean, here and now, is more important, more special than all the years I ever had Angelic powers.  _

 

Jack swallows, his grace itching, humming beneath his skin. He feels a pang of sadness, like a sort of goodbye is happening all over again and frowns.

 

_ I love him, Jack. You’ve always known that, and I’m finally this close to getting what I truly desire. If you undid all of this, gave them a boost to stop their aging and gave them back what the years since you’ve left have taken from them--all of this would be for nothing.  _

 

Castiel stands and crowds Jack’s space, his palm cradling the face of a man, not a boy anymore, and smiles at him with glassy, wet eyes. He presses his lips to Jack’s temple.

 

_ My story ended, as everything does. As I finished the one, I’ve been given another and so has Dean. When this one ends as well, you have my permission, my son--to bring us to rest, together. I love you, and that’s why you need to let me have this.  _

 

_ This is my paradise.  _

 

Jack hugs Castiel close to him, the laughter from the library echoing around them, “I love you, too, Dad.”  

 

Castiel nods, thumbing his cheek. He’d forgot how many emotions and moments came with that now, how huggy the Winchester’s could be. Dean stops abruptly at the door, muttering an apology. Cas smiles at Dean with the same enthusiasm Dean shows him when their eyes meet. 

 

Jack studies them both, turns to meet Dean’s eyes and smiles, “Merry Christmas, Dean. I am very glad I got to be here.” 

 

The retired hunter pulls him close. Memories of Bobby flood him as he smiles, “Merry Christmas Jack. You’re family. You should be here.” Jack blushes, nodding before thanking them both and rejoining the others in the library. 

 

Drunk people were amusing, as the hall suddenly seems empty once more. Castiel studies Dean’s face again, both of them standing in front of the door, but no one crossing the threshold. 

 

For the first time since everything happened, Cas can’t put his finger on what it is he’s seeing in Dean’s eyes right now and another moment passes between them before Dean invades his space--and for a split second, being human is terrifying. 

 

Dean leads Castiel backwards, a heavy hand over Cas’ heart as the door closes behind them. Cas swallows as the back of his knees touch the bed.

 

“We need to talk, Cas…” he starts, unsure where he’s really trying to begin. He rubs at the back of his neck.

 

Castiel offers a small smile, “I do enjoy our talks.” 

 

Dean looks at his hands folded in his lap as the bed sinks beneath him. They’re inches apart, practically breathing the same air. 

 

“I knew I was dying, Cas, and despite how it was happening--the more I thought about it afterwards, the more it wasn’t so much the dying that bothered me; it was leaving behind all the things I wish I would have said.” 

 

Castiel tilts his head in the same endearing way he always had and Dean’s stomach flips. “I got you a gift, but before I give it to you, there’s something I need to say.” 

 

The air changes, Cas swears it does, as he feels his mouth go dry. Dean licks his lips, wondering if he should have written this down. He’s rehearsed it a thousand times, was positive this was easy and yet, here he goes again. 

 

Castiel shifts, looking concerned. “Dean?” 

 

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, wine burning in his belly with cider and whiskey. Liquid courage his ass. 

 

“I love you…and when I opened my eyes to see that you had gone off like some spectacular supernova just to stop me from dying while burning yourself up, knowing that you’d probably bite it...” Dean’s chest twists in guilt, “I couldn’t believe I had lost another chance.” He closes his eyes, steadying his breathing. Castiel’s mouth could catch flies when he opens them again. 

 

He smiles sadly, “I don’t know exactly when, or how, but I know the why--all the things that make me feel it, all the things about you that make me fall even more so everyday...” Castiel’s throat tightens. 

 

Dean doesn’t look up, but he reaches over from the corner of his eye, and takes Cas’ hand gently, “I ain’t stupid, Cas. I know I should have told you, and trust me, I know how many wasted opportunities I had, how many chances I’d been given--” he trails off sadly, every image and moment replaying like a movie, “But I swear it’s true…and no matter what you are, Cas, human or Angel, you always are and have been my hope, my faith and in my heart. It just took me a long time to understand that and I’m sorry.” Reaching into his pocket, Dean pulls out the navy velvet box in the low light of the lamp and places it in Cas’ palm. 

 

Castiel can’t move. “Dean…I--” 

 

He’s speechless. A complete loss of words in spite of all the language rolling around inside his head. Dean’s hands come up to cover Cas’ like they did when they worked on the car. They guide him to open the lid, the small snap echoing around them in the silence.

 

Someone in the other room laughs. When Dean looks at Cas, the tears from his cheeks roll onto the knuckles of Dean’s hands. “Cas?”

 

Castiel can still see the gold glowing through the blur of his tears as they fall down his cheeks freely once again. They don’t feel like they did before, this coming from an overwhelming burst inside of his chest like fireworks. 

 

Dean slowly fastens the chain around the older man's neck, admiring the way it looks, how it just seems to belong there. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder. Castiel touches it as though it were made of glass.

 

The silence between them stretches a few moments more before Cas finally finds himself. “I love you, too. I didn’t realize it at first but when I did...It was unmistakable. I did what I was told I was not capable of as an angel, and--” 

 

Raising his face, Cas cups Dean’s cheek in his palm, smiling. He likes the way the whiskers feel under the pads of his fingers. “Though I am the one who raised you from perdition, you are the one who caught me when I fell, and I will never regret losing my wings for this moment, or any that involve a single second with you before it.” 

 

Dean swallows thickly, bringing his hand up to cover Cas’ and searches the bluest depths he's positive exists in all the Earth. 

 

They’re beautiful, Cas is beautiful, and nothing,  _ nothing _ is ever taking that away from Dean. He’ll go down fighting harder than the world has ever seen him if they tried.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Dean’s voice is so soft, and somehow it sounds like it did all those years ago when he finally found Castiel in Purgatory, gleeful and relieved. Blissful for this man, his beloved Angel. 

 

He should have done it then, he realizes, but it’s forgotten as Castiel nods, leaning towards him. And when they finally meet one another halfway, like they always tried to do, that contact alone could start a flame.

 

It’s soft, but it takes mere seconds before Cas pulls them backwards, bodies together, as they explore one another’s mouth, hands warm under the backs of their shirts as they hold one another closer than either of them ever dared to hope. 

 

It’s a strange process, time fading into the background, both men eager and nervous all at once as they become more exposed to each other than they’ve ever been. They explore, every kiss, every caress of skin and the noise it creates, how they sound as individuals in pleasure, how they harmonize together. 

 

Dean is a work of art Castiel will never stop wanting to admire. 

 

Castiel nuzzles into the crook of Dean’s neck sometime later, clothes strewn along the floor as the light is shut off, letting them drift in the dark, in the quiet of the room. There’s no rush to experience it all as they bask in skin on skin, no arousal, just the comfort, the weight of knowing this is real. That is their sanctuary.

 

Dean can’t remember when he searched someone’s body like that and held someone like this, if ever. He buries his face in Castiel’s hair, inhales the scent he wishes he could bottle.

 

“Merry Christmas, Cas.” but the response is delayed. Dean blinks, waiting. 

 

Castiel’s snore is his only response. 

 

Dean laughs warmly under his breath and holds him closer, pulling up the blankets around them.

 

“I love you, too.” 


End file.
